What He Needs
by Anovia
Summary: To others Francis was just a pretty face, but Arthur began to understand that behind Francis' blue eyes were so many needs. He needed a friend. He needed someone to trust and to hang out with-someone to listen to his problems because yes Mr Perfect had problems too. So that's what Arthur would do: he would become what Francis needs.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey! I know I'm supposed to be writing Remember Me and other stuff, but I needed a break. So this is something I wrote to relax.**

 **In case there's any confusion, they're in highschool. It's a boarding school with the course schedule set up similar to that of a college, because the school thinks it's better if students aren't spending the majority of their days sitting in a classroom.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.**

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 **Chapter 1**

Arthur glanced at the clock, then back at the student next to him. The male had his bright blue eyes fixed on the front of the class, where the teacher was explaining the difference between polysyndeton and asyndeton—a lesson Arthur thought was self-explanatory. However, Arthur enjoyed listening to an English lecture he already understood just as much as he enjoyed learning new rules that would improve his writing. He was fascinated by the schematics of the language; all the complex rules and techniques only made mastering the language all the more impressive.

Today, however, was an unusual day for Arthur. Normally, English, his favorite subject, was the highlight of his day, but on this particular Friday Arthur felt like ripping his hair out. Francis Bonnefoy was seated to the right of him, and instead of taking notes like the rest of the class, he was tapping his pencil on his desk. The sound was driving Arthur over the edge.

Arthur leaned over, trying to get Francis' attention.

"Could you please stop?"

Francis glanced over at the British teen with a raised eyebrow. Instead of listening to Arthur's request, he rolled his eyes and looked back at the whiteboard.

The Briton glared at the student adjacent to him. Doing his best to recall his gentlemanly nature, he tried again.

"The pencil tapping is really annoying, so if you could stop, it would be much appreciated."

"It helps me focus," Francis admitted, not taking his eyes off the board.

"Well, it's disturbing me, so stop!" Arthur snapped. He was at his wits' end; each consecutive tap of the pencil was taking him one step further down crazy lane.

Francis ignored Arthur's outrage, seeming to only care about the lesson at hand. Arthur tried his best to not jump out of his seat and strangle the French teen, but with every additional thud of the pencil striking a desk Arthur knew he was fighting a losing battle. In a final attempt to keep his composure, Arthur ran his fingers through his short dirty blond locks. He proceeded by taking and letting out a deep breath, closing his eyes in an effort to calm himself.

When the Brit reopened his leaf green eyes, he was in a library-his happy place. Bookcase after bookcase of novels and not another person to be seen; it was quite literally Heaven. He approached the first shelf and scanned a few of the poetry titles. His eyes ran over the names of some of his favorite authors—William Blake, Emily Dickinson, James Joyce, and John Keats— before he got to the name he was searching for: Edgar Allen Poe. Knowing he was going to spend quite a bit of time in that particular section, he took a seat on the carpeted floor, crossing his legs Indian Style. He had barely opened to the first poem, however, when he heard a thud from a few aisles away; he got up to see what happened, leaving his poetry on the floor and heading towards where he thought the sound originated. About halfway there, he saw a book fly off its shelf and land on the floor with the same thud he recognized from earlier. Soon after, another book fell. Arthur barely had time to question it before more novels were ejecting themselves from their spots and crashing to the ground at a quickening pace. Eventually, the books started to land on Arthur. He tried to protect himself by covering his head and running out of the library, but he was not fast enough. Within seconds, he was up to his hips in literature. It didn't hurt him, but he could not escape. Each book made it harder for him to move. Soon, the novels were over his head, blocking out the light. It was pitch black and all Arthur could hear was the repetitive _thump, thump, thump_ of the books.

Arthur opened his eyes in a panic. It felt like his heart was going to jump out of his chest. The teen moved his hand over his heart, almost as if to keep it in place. He was back at his desk, but he could still hear the sound of books piling on top of him. Frantic, he turned from side to side, trying to identify the source. His eyes landed on a number two pencil.

Francis had an elbow on his desk to easily use that hand to prop his head up. His other hand was creating the incessant pencil tapping noises that were slowly driving Arthur to lunacy. However, his intense attention on the daily lesson prevented him from noticing the Brit's annoyance.

 _That's it!_ Arthur yelled mentally, leaning over in his seat to rip the pencil away from Francis. He took the writing utensil into both hands and broke it with his thumbs. For a moment, Arthur was sure he looked like a maniac to the rest of his class, but it was well worth it. Anymore of that irksome tapping and Arthur would have killed somebody. As far as he was concerned, Francis was lucky all he broke was the pencil.

"What is your problem?" Francis snapped, turning to face Arthur. Francis furrowed his eyebrows in anger, searching the other teen's face for a reasonable explanation.

"Like you don't know!" Arthur yelled. As if to prove his anger, he threw both pieces of the broken pencil at the teen to his right. Francis had quick reflexes and effortlessly deflected attack, paying no mind to where the fragments would land. Immediately, Francis regretted it.

The teacher, Ms. Clement, had just turned around to identify who was yelling when she was hit square in the face with one of the two pieces of a pencil. Without any hesitation, she went to her desk and wrote out a pass to the principal's office. At the top, in large print, were Francis Bonnefoy and Arthur Kirkland. She slapped the note on Francis' desk.

"Both of you go, now."

Arthur did not need to be told twice. He got out of his desk, grabbed his satchel, and headed for the door to wait for Francis. For a moment, it seemed like the French teen was going to question his punishment, but the glare Ms. Clement was giving him made Francis think he had a better chance explaining the situation to the dean. Francis got up, collected his belongings, and followed Arthur's lead. The second the two left the room and the door closed behind them, Francis walked into Arthur, shoving the Brit to the wall, hard.

"What's wrong with you?!" Francis demanded, staring down the other teen.

Arthur fixed his shirt before answering, refusing to allow his shirt to wrinkle because of Francis' inconsiderate actions.

"Me?" Arthur inquired, pointing to himself. "I'm not the one tapping his pencil like there's no tomorrow."

"It helps me concentrate," Francis explained, shifting his gaze to the floor.

"You've been in this class three weeks and you've never done that stupid pencil tapping nonsense!" Arthur pushed the teen as revenge for being shoved earlier.

"Maybe I'm trying harder now, ever think of that?" Francis quipped, barely giving Arthur enough time to think before forcing him into the wall. He put his hands on both sides of the British teen to make sure Arthur's attention on him.

"What? You don't just bat your eyes at teachers and expect an A?" Arthur tried to push Francis out of his way, but the other teen was not moving.

"Just because I'm attractive, doesn't mean I don't have to work like everybody else."

"You could have fooled me. I've seen you spend an entire math class flirting with a teacher's assistant. That is, when you weren't texting your friends!"

"That's because math is easy!"

"And English isn't?"

"Well…" Francis started. Backing away from the wall, Francis let his arms fall to his side. He looked up to Arthur and raised the inner parts of his eyebrows, pulling them together, but only for a moment. Something seemed to change in Francis' thoughts as the French teen's facial expression morphed into something else. His eyebrows shifted downward, creating a vertical line in the space between the two and his lips tensed.

"Not everyone had English as their first language," Francis claimed before strutting down the hall.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Arthur asked himself aloud, watching Francis make off towards the principal. He stood there for a few seconds, confused, before making the connection. Arthur practically had to sprint to catch up with Francis before he reached the end of the hall. He grabbed the French teen's arm, stopping Francis from opening the door to the office.

"Are you having trouble in English?"

"Great, you figured me out! Rub it in, why don't you? I know you'd love to." Francis pulled his arm out of Arthur's grasp. Arthur's face fell at the sound of the other teen's words.

"Why do you think I want to rub it in?"

Francis scoffed. He barely took a second to reply. "Because you hate me," Francis began, crossing his arms for effect. "Every day you find a new excuse to insult me or yell at me for just trying to be nice!"

"I don't hate you," Arthur explained. He looked to the floor and then back up to Francis, feeling his face get hot. He took a step closer to Francis and started rubbing his arm uneasily.

"I actually really like you. I mean… I really like picking on you." Arthur turned away from Francis entirely, not wanting to see how he reacted. Unsure what to do, the Brit vouched in favor of entering the main office. The English teen would rather deal with the dean than explain his Freudian Slip to Francis. He opened the door and went inside, assuming Francis would follow.

"We were sent to see the dean."

The secretary nodded. She relayed the information to the dean via a handheld radio. While waiting for his reply, Arthur shifted his weight from foot to foot, not daring to look at Francis.

 _I can't believe I said I like him. Now he's probably going to misinterpret that into something sexual and ugh. Why did the stupid frog have to be so irritating?_

Francis nudged Arthur, pulling the teen from his thoughts. Apparently, the secretary had said they could go, because Francis was opening the door to the dean's office. On the inside of the office rested a large mahogany desk which was fairly vacant except for an American flag, a name tag, a few papers, and two pens, all of which seemed very organized.

Francis smiled confidently, walking up to hand over the paper to the Germanic man behind the desk.

"Let me explain."

Twenty minutes later, the two were walking out of the dean's office without any punishment. Francis had talked the dean out of it, but the two did receive a stern warning. Regardless, neither of them wanted to press their luck like that again. While he seemed in a well enough mood today, they had a feeling the dean could be really mean when he wanted to be.

The two were walking in silence. Class ended ten minutes ago, so there was no going back there. Arthur's next class was still an hour and a half away, and Francis was free for the day. They could go their separate ways at any time, but both knew they needed to talk. However, instead of addressing it, they strolled across campus side by side hoping the other would speak first.

It wasn't until Arthur finally spoke up that the two stopped walking.

"If you're so desperate for help, I suppose I could tutor you."

"You? Tutor _me_?" he asked suspiciously. "Why?"

"To get you to stop that incessant pencil tapping."

Francis scanned his face for any sign of deceit. He took a step closer, squinting his eyes slightly.

"That still seems a bit out of character for you. Even if you don't hate me, I doubt you'd help me out of the kindness of your heart. That is… if there's _any_ kindness in your heart."

"Wow, you're great at getting people to help you. I'm surprised you don't have a line of people waiting to teach you the ins and outs of syntax," Arthur remarked sarcastically, crossing his arms.

"Look, I'm not trying to be mean-"

"How was that _not_ trying to be mean?!"

"I just want to be sure that you're really going to help me. This past week alone I've gone through twelve different tutors, all of which tried to get into my pants. So yeah, I'm a little skeptical about your intentions, especially since I'm desperate to bring my grade up."

Arthur scoffed. "You wish. This might seem hard for you to believe, but not everyone wants to sleep with you. I'll help you out of respect for the English language, because I care when people are butchering it."

"Then… thank you." Francis smiled from ear to ear, seemingly getting more excited by the second. He pulled Arthur into a hug, and then kissed him on both cheeks. Afterwards he reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell.

"I should probably give you my number, right? That way we can contact each other and whatnot."

Arthur nodded in agreement. He took out his cell and handed it to Francis.

"This is your phone?" Francis inspected it as if was foreign technology. It was a Blackberry Torch 9810 with a blue gel phone case.

"What's wrong with my phone?"

"Nothing, if you're a fifty year old business woman. I thought these only existed in museums. How do you even press these keys? They're so small."

"Firstly, it only came out four years ago, and secondly, it works just fine. I don't understand people like you, with your apple phones." Arthur lifted up Francis' phone for emphasis. "Why would I even bother with a phone if I planned on replacing in within the year?"

"Whatever, grandpa," Francis joked.

"Again, this phone only came out, _four_ years ago! And your phone doesn't even make sense. It only has one button," Arthur explained, tapping the screen furiously. Francis had opened it to contacts, but somehow Arthur found himself looking at a calculator.

"Where's the back button?"

"It's the..." Francis began, stopping when he caught sight of Arthur fighting with his iPhone. For a few seconds he watched with amusement as the British teen fiddled with the phone. However, when Arthur jumped at the sound of accidentally playing a song, Francis took pity on him. He took the device back and set it to the add contact screen before giving Arthur a second chance to add his information.

When they finished swapping contact info and phones had been returned to their proper owners, Francis was still smiling. It seemed natural, like this is how Francis' face always looked. What caught Arthur's attention, though, was not how vibrant the smile was, but how he felt seeing Francis smile. Just watching Francis being happy, made him somehow feel better.

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 **I hope you liked it. I really liked writing it.**

 **If you want to leave a review, it would be much appreciated. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey, I wrote more stuff... so um, I hope you enjoy it.**

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

Arthur stared at the clock.

 _6:23 PM_

It's been a little over four hours since he gave Francis his number. He flopped down on his bed, taking his phone out of his pocket.

 _Maybe he expects me to contact him…_

Arthur sat up, crossing his legs Indian style. He took his cell into his hands and immediately pushed out the keyboard. His fingers hovered over the keys, but eventually, he closed his phone.

 _Why am I making such a big deal about this? He has to message me if we're going to study._

He leaned over to grab his laptop from the nightstand. Normally, writing would relax him, but now he could barely put two words on the blank document in front of him. The blinking cursor seemed to taunt him, exclaiming how stagnant his writing was.

 _Netflix. I can watch something on Netflix. Alfred's always trying to get me to watch Daredevil and Netflix did give it five stars... Now's as good a time as any._

He closed the blank document—without saving the changes, because he was a rebel. He double clicked internet explorer and soon he was watching a little boy lying in the middle of the road crying to his father because he can't see. Inadvertently, he began playing with the corner of his phone's case, pulling it off and putting it back on. Every five minutes his eyes drifted to the screen, but not for long. For once, Netflix seemed to make a good recommendation.

Barely half an hour had passed when he felt his cell vibrate in between his fingers. He glanced at the message, opting not to reply. Francis suggested studying early tomorrow, as if Arthur had nothing better to do with his Saturdays. After a few more minutes, he confirmed and gave Francis his room number.

 _Great. Francis will be over in…_

He glanced at the analog clock near the door.

 _Thirteen hours. I have plenty of time to finish this show._

Arthur did not remember falling asleep, and he doubted he could have been asleep long with how tired he felt when Alfred, his roommate, knocked on his door. The other teen opened the door without waiting for an answer.

"Who invites people over at eight AM on a Saturday?" Alfred inquired, staring down the exhausted English teen. Slowly but surely, Arthur sat upright in his bed, still wrapped up in his duvet. He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off.

"Nevermind, every second I waste in this conversation, I could be sleeping." With that, Alfred stormed off, presumably heading back to his own room for more sleep.

Apparently the American teen had let Francis into the dorm, because the blond was standing in the living room staring at Arthur through the open door confused.

"And here I was thinking you would have already finished yelling at kids to get off your lawn by now," Francis smirked, making his way into Arthur's room. He dropped his bag by the door and proceeded to sit at the edge of the bed a groggy Brit was occupying.

"Are you going to get up, or…?"

Arthur stared at Francis blankly still trying to understand what was happening. After a few more seconds, something seemed to click in the mind of the teen.

"Yes. Right. I should get up…" Eyes still full of sleep, the Brit forced himself to move. He tried to get out of the mesh of sheets he had tangled himself in, but only resulted in falling on the floor.

"Are you okay?" Francis asked, getting off the bed and moving closer to Arthur.

"Yeah…" the teen started, doing his best to avoid dying from embarrassment. "Nothing hurt but my pride." He stood up, allowing the sheets to fall to the floor. Francis suppressed a laugh and watched as Arthur collected his thoughts.

"You can get out your English stuff and start by making a list of the topics you find the most difficult. I'm going to freshen up."

Francis nodded in silent agreement, heading to the living room and grabbing his bag on the way out. When the other teen had left the room, Arthur threw on some clean clothes and headed towards the bathroom. One look in the mirror and his whole being oozed with insecurities. His hair was a spiky mess and there was a bit of dried drool on his chin.

As hard as he wished, he did not just disappear, so he decided to pretend Francis did not notice. When he finished washing his face, brushing his teeth, and combing his hair, he went out to properly greet his guest.

"Do you want anything to drink or eat?" Arthur offered as he approached the living room. Francis shook his head.

"I ate before I got here…" Francis noticed Arthur's face fall as he turned away from the kitchen back to the French teen. "But feel free to eat something if you want. I'm still making the list."

Arthur smiled a bit, before returning to his normal poker face. "I suppose I could get something to eat if you insist."

Francis nodded in agreement. "Which I do."

"After all, you are a guest."

"That I am."

"And breakfast _is_ the most important meal of the day…"

"These are all accurate points," Francis concluded, raising his hand in the direction of the kitchen. "Help yourself."

Arthur made toast, and put some water in the kettle and placed it on the open stove so he would be able to have tea later. He finished eating relatively quickly compared to his normal hour long breakfasts and joined Francis on the couch.

"Sorry for coming over so early, I have soccer later and the coach can be erratic about the times," Francis explained, handing Arthur his list. He turned in the chair so he was facing Arthur, leaning his back against the armrest.

Arthur mumbled something about it not being a problem while Francis pulled his legs close to him. The left one was prepared for Francis to sit Indian style, but the other was folded upwards for Francis to press his face against his knee as he watched Arthur read over his information.

"You have nice handwriting. Do you always write in cursive?" Arthur inquired, after about a minute or so of silence. Francis pulled his eyes away from Arthur's face, as if he had just broken free from a trance.

"Huh?" Francis asked, looking around the room in an effort to bring himself back to reality. "Oh, yeah… Thanks. I prefer cursive. I think it's faster."

Arthur nodded, extending the paper back to Francis. "I never quite picked it up. It was taught vaguely in the third grade, but never brought up again until standardized testing. Anyways, I think we should start with the more basic topics on your list; the overarching topics that affect multiple areas. Let me get my binder." Arthur got up and retrieved his effects. When he got back he noticed Francis sending a text, but made no comment on it, even though he desperately wanted to know who the French teen could be texting this early.

"We should start with understanding irony and knowing the different types," Arthur stated, opening the binder on the couch as he retook his seat.

"I get irony. It's when something happens that wasn't expected," Francis claimed, glancing up from his phone. He locked the screen and put the device in his back pocket while keeping eye contact with Arthur.

"You understand the main concept of irony, but you're missing the factors that lead up to it. Fully understanding irony is probably the most important part if you want a decent grade in literature. In fact, I would venture that it's the only thing you really need to do well. It'll help with litotes, puns, understatements, hyperbole, metaphors, paradoxes, oxymorons, foils, juxtaposition, antithesis, and tone. Honestly, a firm understanding of irony makes every other literary device simple."

"Okay then," Francis readjusted himself so that he was sitting completely Indian Style. He propped his head up with both his hands, resting his elbows on his legs, so he resembled a fascinated child eagerly listening to a story. "Teach me about the magical nature of irony, oh wizened elder."

"Firstly," Arthur stated, indicating his numbering with his index finger. "Shut up. And secondly," he leaned forward to his binder, flipping through the pages until he landed on one he deemed fit. He opened the prongs and took out four green pages. "Copy over these notes. I would suggest handwriting them to retain the information for longer, but it's up to you."

"I don't know what surprises me more; the fact your notes are color-coded, or that they're not laminated," Francis smirked. He leaned over to grab a spiral notebook and pen from his bag, and then began writing out the notes as instructed.

Arthur scoffed. "Why would I waste money laminating this? I preserve this the same way normal people save their files: on a jump drive."

Immediately, Francis stopped working and looked up to the other teen. He stared at Arthur, slowly raising an eyebrow. "What?"

"I have my notes saved electronically," Arthur repeated in an annoyed tone of voice. He pressed his lips together and furrowed his brow, shaking his face slightly.

"No, I mean, what was that word you used? Did you call it a jump drive?"

"Yeah, that's what is."

"No, it's a USB. That's what everyone calls it."

"Okay, well, when you see Everyone again, tell him I don't care what he calls it-it's a jump drive."

Francis chuckled and shook his head. He turned back to notebook he was copying the notes into, but he barely finished a sentence before he felt compelled to turn back to his tutor. Arthur was apparently watching Francis work, because when looked up, the two locked eyes. The moment was brief; Arthur opened his mouth slightly, as if to speak, but then apparently thought better of it. He returned his attention to the binder on the seat between them. Francis followed suit, focusing on the text in front of him. It took about ten or so minutes of silence before Francis finished.

"Now what?" the blond asked, setting down his pen. He reorganized the papers Arthur gave him, then put them back in the binder.

Francis was not sure when, but during the time he was copying notes, Arthur must have gotten up because he was writing in a journal he did not have ten minutes ago. The English teen seemed oblivious to Francis' attempt to return the papers as he continued to scribble words into the composition book.

With a smirk, Francis moved Arthur's binder off of the couch and onto the coffee table, freeing up the cushion between them. The French teen scooted down until his was close enough to feel the warmth coming from Arthur's body. He leaned forward, trying to read as Arthur wrote.

"Are you writing a story?"

Arthur certainly heard Francis that time. The Brit felt his spirit leave his body as he jumped up nearly high enough to hit his head on the ceiling.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you not to sneak up on people?" Arthur inquired, rushing to shut his notebook and hide it away between him and the armrest.

Francis raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. He chuckled before responding. "I was sitting here the entire time."

"No." Arthur lifted his index finger in a "hold on there" way. "You were all the way over there," he explained. He motioned the distance as he spoke with his finger, pointing to the far side of the couch.

"You've got to be kidding. It's basically the same thing. Both ways, I'm on the couch, sitting the next to you."

"No! They are nowhere near the same. While both are in the vicinity of me, sitting over there is a decent, friendly amount of space. Whereas now, I'm close enough to ki-kill you…" Arthur caught himself before he could say kiss. If he said it aloud, Francis would know for sure that Arthur liked him. The Brit would hate for that to happen. Then he would be just like every other person in Francis' life.

"Yeah," Arthur continued, trying to sound like he fully intended to say kill. "Imagine how hard it would be for me to stab you from there. But right now, you're perfect stabbing distance. I could slit your throat before you even had the chance to scream." Arthur didn't know why he said that. He never wanted to say any of those words, but somehow they came out before he had a chance to filter them; however, it wasn't as if he was going to let Francis believe he had this effect on him. Arthur crossed his arms and raised his eyebrow in an "I know better" manner, doing his best to hide his embarrassment.

"Okay…" Francis uttered at a volume slightly above a whisper as he scooted down back to the other side of the couch. Once he was comfortable, he looked towards Arthur, who still glaring at him condescendingly. For some reason, that made him smile.

"You know, you've got to be the first person who's wanted me to move away from them."

Arthur scoffed. Francis was only close to him for a few seconds, and he already missed his warmth. Nonetheless, there was no way he was going to tell him that. "You're so conceited. News flash, everyone isn't in love with you."

"I'm serious."

"I'm serious too. If your head gets any bigger, you're not going to fit through the door."

Francis chuckled. "Are you always like this?"

"Only when I'm being nice."

"If this is you at nice, I'd hate to see you angry."

"Oh yeah, well if this is you at-" Arthur was cut off by the sound of Francis' ringtone. It was actually perfect timing. He did not have come back and he knew if _Fireball_ by Pitbull hadn't started playing he would have said something incredibly stupid.

Francis barely said two words into the phone before hanging up. "I have to go. Soccer practice is going to start soon and if I'm late I have to run 50 laps around the field." He got up and threw his notebook into his bag, and headed towards the exit. His hand was hovering over the doorknob when he stopped. He turned around to hug Arthur.

"Thank you. I really mean it. I'm going to study these notes right after practice and I'll get back to you."

The hug took Arthur by surprise. He could barely even process what was happening until it was over, meaning he just stood, incredibly still, for a few moments with Francis' arms wrapped around him. "Oh… yeah, whatever. Just hurry up and leave already. My room is already beginning to smell like baguettes."


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey! It's almost 2016, so happy new year everyone!**

 **Hopefully new year means new reviews! I hope you all like is, if you do, feel free to let me know. (Constructive criticism also very much appreciated.)**

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

The music was playing with such fervor that Arthur could feel the beat pulsing through his veins—not a pleasurable situation. No part of him could comprehend how any decent human being with proper hearing could enjoy this. He was sitting at the bar, head down, nursing a _Coca Cola_ because he wasn't of age to get anything alcoholic.

"I told you this would be awesome," Alfred exclaimed, taking a seat in the empty stool to Arthur's right.

Arthur groaned thinking back to how he got into this.

* * *

He was in the kitchen, preparing to start his day properly. After Francis had departed, he had time to make himself a proper English breakfast—the focal point of which being tea.

"Whatchya making?" Alfred inquired, only half awake as he ambled over to the kitchen area.

"A proper cuppa. You want?" Arthur offered, already taking out a second mug. He placed both on the counter that the tired American was slowly approaching.

"Cuppa what?" He scratched his head lightly before loudly pulling a high stool towards him. He slid atop it and peered into the empty coffee cups.

"Tea. Cuppa is short for cup of tea," Arthur placed a teabag in each mug.

"I'm more of a coffee person," Alfred insisted, wearily eyeing the steaming water.

"Nonsense, you just haven't had a decent cuppa yet, is all." He checked to ensure the water was hot enough before picking up the kettle with a mitten protecting his hand. "The trick is you pour the water directly onto the teabag so the heat draws out all the flavour."

Alfred smirked and waited until his roommate stopped pouring in the water to reach for his drink. "You didn't even fill it up," he commented with disappointment, peering into the cup.

"You don't drink it yet," Arthur explained. "We need to wait two to three minutes for all the flavour to really come out."

"Sounds boring," Alfred admitted, dropping his head onto the counter. He stared at the mug from the side, not sure how to entertain himself. Suddenly, he remembered a conversation he had had earlier that week.

"Dude," Alfred began as he quickly picked up his head and slapped his hands onto the counter, nearly spilling tea.

Arthur cautioned him to be more careful and Alfred nodded, trying to get back to his sentence. Arthur sighed, moving towards the refrigerator to get milk.

"We should go see a drag show tonight!" Alfred exclaimed, rising in his seat.

Arthur had never been so glad he was not drinking something. He was lucky enough he didn't drop the milk. Surely, he would have choked to death or at the very least, done a spit-take. Instead, he let go of the refrigerator door, letting it close by itself. He turned to Alfred, scanning his face for any sign of sarcasm.

"You want to do what?" Arthur inquired, placing the milk on the counter top adjacent to the tea. He was sure he heard incorrectly.

"There's this really cool gay bar right off of Union Drive. They have drag shows on Fridays. We should go!"

"That's not really my scene…" Arthur glanced towards Alfred, hoping his roommate would understand he was not interested and lay off the subject. As he began adding milk to the tea, he was remind that Alfred is not the type to take no for an answer.

"Drag shows are everybody's scene. Fact: 100 percent of people love drag shows."

"That's an absurd statistic. What's your source, Wikipedia?" Arthur scoffed, turning towards the cabinets above the stove.

"Firstly," Alfred began, motioning his number count with his fingers. "They're awesome. Secondly, refer back to reason number one."

He took out a bear shaped bottle and placed it on the counter. "You're completely bonkers, aren't you?"

"You know you love it."

Arthur merely rolled his eyes, not bothering to respond. He put two teaspoons of honey in each cup and mixed it in. Afterwards, he pushed the cup towards his roommate. "Enjoy," Arthur stated, before turning to put the milk back.

"I'll take your silence as a yes." Alfred took a big swing of his drink. "You know this is actually pretty not terrible. Iced tea taste better though. Have you had those teas at Starbucks?"

Arthur took his mug and made a beeline for the couch. "You'll take my silence as a no, because I'm not going."

"You have to come."

He cozied up next to an armrest and turned on the television, flipping through the channels until he reached the local news station. "No. I really don't. I don't _have_ to do anything."

"If you don't come, I'll…" Alfred pondered for a moment. He brought his hand up to his chin mimicking _The Thinker_ pose. "Hmmm. I know! I'll make grammatical errors when I speak. I can speak very not good when I want to."

Arthur visibly cringed at this. "I don't care."

"Oh, you don't do you? Then what am I doing this for? For who?" Alfred taunted, getting up to move closer to his obviously piqued roommate.

Arthur tightened his grip on his drink. He closed his eyes and was taking in very deep breaths, doing his best to remain calm. "Why would I care if you used who instead of whom, _especially_ _when it is so obviOUSLY SUPPOSED TO—_ ehem, I mean… I don't. I also don't care that you ended with a preposition."

"That's the spirit! I knew you could care less."

"Couldn't."

"Hmm?"

"Nothing. It's nothing." He went back to drinking his tea, hoping against hope that it would help him keep his composure.

"Did I ever tell you the story of when Matthew and me was in the ten items or less line and we actually had a large amount of stuff? Irregardless, it-"

"STOP!" Arthur exclaimed. Placing his mug on the coffee table, he pleaded to Alfred. "Please, never again."

"Awesome, be ready to leave by ten. I'll drive."

* * *

 _Right…._ Arthur thought, staring into his drink. _I should invest in a pair of earplugs._

"The show is about to start," Alfred announced, pulling Arthur away from his thoughts. A familiar beat blasted through the club, which he quickly identified as _Uptown Funk_ by Bruno Mars. He turned to face the dance floor, which had been cleared out. In the front of the crowd was the austere German he recognized from his statistics course. Needless to say, Arthur was beyond baffled as to why this by the book blond was anywhere but in a library memorizing rules. When the first dancer came out, however, it all made sense. Feliciano walked out of a side room wearing red stilettos, black booty shorts, a white crop top partially covered by an open pink form-fitting blazer, and a white hat slightly dipping to the left. He was wearing a long brunette wig and the whole costume came together so well Arthur had to constantly remind himself that Feliciano was not, in fact, a female. He waltzed around the room as if he were gliding on air rather than trotting in impossibly high heels. He moved in perfect time with the beat, flirting with some of the crowd whenever he could, but for the most part, his eyes kept landing on the German in the front. By the end of the song, the floor was littered with bills. Feliciano had managed to collect a good portion of it, but left the rest for the security guards to pick up.

"Are you guys having a good time?" He asked to the general audience. They replied with a wave of cheers and hooting.

"If you this is your first time here, let me be the first to welcome you to Oz. We welcome all friends of Dorothy."

Arthur turned his attention back to his drink, hoping that if he wished hard enough, his soda would magically turn into beer. Not that he wasn't having a blast, but, well, he wasn't. He hated loud music. He hated crowded spaces. And, if he was being honest, he hated people in general.

"What's wrong, honey?"

The sound reached Arthur's ears, but it took him a while to process it. After a few seconds, he pulled himself from his thoughts to identify the inquirer. His eyes landed on the brunette bartender in front of him.

"Love troubles got you down?" she asked, drying off clean glasses for future use.

"No. I mean yes. I mean I do have romantic issues, but that's not why I…" He didn't mean to say that. In fact, he didn't mean to say anything. He fully planned on ignoring her question and waiting out the rest of the night, but something about her made Arthur want to open up. Somehow, she seemed trustworthy. Arthur wasn't sure.

She looked stunning in an outfit as simple as skinny jeans, sneakers, and a plain tee, but also very approachable. Her green eyes were soft and kind. Everything about her was feminine, but more than that. She appeared to know far more than her years—almost motherly.

"My name's Elizaveta, but most people call me Lizzy. I'll listen if you want me to. Do you want to talk about it?" She put down the glass to signify that he had her full attention. For some reason, that small gesture meant a lot to him.

"Thanks. I'm Arthur. It's not really much of a problem. It's just… there's this guy and …" Arthur started, his sentence drifted off when he realized he didn't know how to begin.

"It's always a guy," the bartender smiled.

"He didn't do anything wrong. In fact, he's great. He's smart, funny, athletic, charismatic, attractive, and witty." Arthur paused to look at his hands. Why was he sharing his problems with a stranger?

"He sounds perfect," the brunette said, filling the silence Arthur had left.

The Brit scoffed. "He wishes. He's also arrogant and narcissistic and idealistic and annoying…but I like being around him."

"I mean, we all have our flaws. If anything relationships are healthier when you realize that neither of you are perfect."

"That's not it… It's just, he's _really_ attractive, like supermodel attractive. For the most part, for him, it feels like everyone he meets is just trying to get in his pants." Elizaveta nodded, brushing her hair behind her ears.

"I don't want to be just another person to him. I want him to realize that I don't just want to do him." Arthur met her eyes, hoping she could offer up some advice. In his head he knew he said he would be Francis' friend, but he didn't feel like he could be. The few hours they had spent together this morning had sent his heart racing. There was no way he could deal with being around Francis and keep his feelings hidden. Maybe Elizaveta knew something he didn't, some loophole to the friend contract that would bring him his fairytale ending.

"He confided in you," Elizaveta began, crossing her arms. She shifted her weight to one of her hips so that she was standing contrapposto. "He is trusting you. If you don't want to be like every other Tom, Dick, and Sally, then don't. Don't pretend that you care about his feelings and then put yourself first."

"I do care about his feelings!" Arthur protested, rising in his seat. Elizaveta glared at him, silently commanding him to sit back down.

"I do care about his feelings…" Arthur repeated, in a much softer tone than before. He sank back down into the bar stool and waited for her response. Elizaveta sighed.

"Maybe at some point way down the road he'll be willing and able to start a relationship, but I can tell you from experience: there is no feeling quite as disappointing and gut-wrenching, as when you think someone's your friend—when in actuality, they were only playing at being a 'nice guy' to get in your pants. You don't have to be his friend, but if you're going to be his friend, be just that. Don't hurt him any more than he already has been."

She placed one of her hands over Arthur's. Tears had started to form in the corner of his eyes. "I really do care about his feelings…" he said, barely audible above the music.

Elizaveta clutched his hand tighter. "I know sweetie. I know."

"Hey A-rod, guess whose phone number I just got?" a loud dirty blond teen asked, clearly not reading the atmosphere. Elizaveta glared at the newcomer, but Arthur simply took his hand away and started wiping away tears. He mouthed the words thank you to the bartender before putting on his best fake smile to face his roommate.

"I don't know."

"Of course you don't know. That's why I told you to _guess_." Alfred stared at his friend, eyes full of excitement. Normally Arthur might have played along, but right now he really was not in the mood.

"I don't know."

Alfred sighed. "You know, I really have to teach you how this whole guessing thing works." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded napkin with a name and several numbers scribbled underneath.

"Congratulations Casanova, you've just got a partial phone number from one Kiku Honda." Arthur turned his attention back to his drink and took a large swing, but it didn't have the same numbing effect as the scotch he had once snuck from his dad's liquor cabinet.

"Right?! Can you believe—wait, what do you mean partial?" Arthur looked at the napkin and his eyes nearly popped out of his head. "There are only nine digits! Do you think he wrote it wrong, or do you think he messed up on purpose?"

Arthur stared down at his empty glass, not in the slightest concerned with Alfred's melodramatic behavior.

"Maybe if I hurry, I can catch him!" Alfred patted Arthur on the shoulder. 'Wish me luck!' were the American's final words before dashing off on his quest, not that Arthur cared. The dirty blond was too busy glaring at the black X on the back of his hand, signifying he was too young to drink anything alcoholic.

 _Maybe if I flirt with someone, I can get him to buy me a drink._

Arthur scanned the room, searching for a prime target. He saw someone looking particularly lonely at the end of the bar and almost got out of his seat. That was before, of course, he remembered how shy he was.

 _There is no way I can just go up and flirt with someone. Is that even a thing anymore? Do people still hit on each other in bars? Or is that just for creeps?_

He sighed. He was about to request a refill of soda when the bartender put a drink in front of him.

"It's a virgin Piña Colada complements of that man over there," Elizaveta explained, tilting her head towards an albino male at the far end of the bar. He winked at Arthur when he looked over. The Brit instantly turned back to his drink, lest the stranger see him blush like a lunatic. Not that he was particularly interested, though the man was handsome, he simply wasn't hit on often.

His glass was half empty when the albino finally approached him. Arthur knew it was coming, and in his head he practiced turning down the man so many times, but the stranger was getting closer by the second and his mouth was malfunctioning. Just as Arthur finally gathered all his courage, the mystery man spoke.

"It looked like you were having a bad day, so I hope that cheered you up a bit." He smiled, gesturing toward the drink with his eyes. Arthur's jaw clenched. He normally did not have this much trouble speaking, but he felt like an idiot for assuming the man was flirting with him. He was caught too off-guard. He wanted to say thank you in any sort of dignified manner; however, in lieu of that some garbled form of 'thanks' escaped.

The stranger seemed to think it endearing and laughed while Arthur inwardly died of embarrassment. He was going to major in English. Words were his weapon of choice and right now he couldn't even form a complete sentence. Oblivious to Arthur's inner turmoil, the man clapped a hand on the dirty blond's shoulder.

"Have a nice night." With that, the albino left. Arthur watched him walk out. If they met again, he swore he would redeem himself.

By the time he finished his drink, he could see Alfred making his way back to the bar. Arthur sighed, bracing himself for what would no doubt be another trivial conversation.

"Hey! Guess who totally got his full phone number?" Alfred exclaimed, waving around the napkin as proof.

 _Well, I guess tonight wasn't a complete waste. I can't pursue someone who very well may be the love of my life, but hey, Alfred got some guy's phone number._ _Fan-fucking-tastic._


	4. Chapter 4

**Update: School is hard and time consuming. But it's over now, so enjoy!**

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

Arthur sat in his desk, ten minutes early to class. Usually, he would have been at least twenty minutes early, but Ludwig stopped him on his way to ask if he would like to join a study group for Statistics. Ludwig agreed to giving him a week to get his affairs in order before starting what Arthur was sure would be nothing less than math boot camp. So far, the group was only the two of them, but the German was still considering other possible members. Instead of inquiring further, Arthur decided to make haste towards his first class.

After he got his binder opened on his desk, he glanced at the clock: 9:23. He thoroughly enjoyed having extra time before class to flip through the syllabus and double check to ensure he was prepared for today's lecture.

He had become so absorbed in taking stock of his school supplies, he didn't notice Francis slip into the seat next to him. The French teen greeted him with a 'Bonjour,' but received no acknowledgement in return.

"Hello? Are your hearing aids in?" Francis asked, raising his voice slightly. It was enough to draw Arthur out of his trance. His initial shock quickly faded into annoyance.

"Ha Ha Ha, you're so funny. You should be a stand-up comedian. I can see the headlines now, 'Adonis makes joke, becomes funniest man alive.'"

"I'm an Adonis, am I?" Francis put his elbow in the edge of the desk, using his hand to prop his head up.

"What? You didn't hear me? Maybe you're the one who needs hearing aids." Arthur did his best not to look at Francis. He could feel his ears turning red as it is.

"Oh, now you're the one with the jokes?" Francis smirked. He was expecting another witty retort, but Arthur was barely paying attention to him.

"Hey," Francis began, extending his other arm to put his hand on Arthur's shoulder. "Why aren't you looking at me?"

"Oh, you know, don't look directly at the sun and all that," Arthur said before realizing what words that just from his mouth. He continued to stare at his notes with more fervor, hoping his hair would shield the rush of blood to his cheeks.

Francis chuckled, caught off guard. He retracted his arm to point at himself. "You know, I'm supposed to be the flirty one." At the end of his sentence, he raised an eyebrow for emphasis.

"That wasn't flirting," Arthur asserted, maybe a little too quickly. "And you're the conceited one," he added a short while after.

"How was that not-wait. Conceited?" Francis sat up in his seat.

"Yeah. I don't flirt, and if I did, it definitely wouldn't be with you. I go two seconds without insulting you, and you assume I'm flirting. I'll make sure to not make the same mistake in the future."

"Well, I never," Francis stated, feigning hurt by placing a hand over his heart.

Arthur scoffed. "I find that hard to believe."

"Wow, you go from zero to a hundred real quick, don't you?"

Arthur had finished flipping through his notes, so he began putting all non-essentials back in his bag.

"Well, if I don't constantly insult you, you'll think I like you," he explained, stuffing the last of his journals in his bag. He turned to face Francis with a smirk.

"And we can't have that, can we? If your head gets any bigger you won't be able to fit through doorways."

Francis scooted in chair towards Arthur so he was half out of his seat. He leaned towards the Brit, combed his fingers through his hair, and returned the smirk.

"You know in elementary, children often bully their crushes."

Arthur glared at Francis. For a moment, he mulled over possible responses. Anything rash would further cement Francis' point. After a few seconds, he straightened up in his chair, and then tugged at the bottom of his sweater vest to fix his appearance.

"As a proper gentleman, I'd never resort to such childish gestures."

Francis was going to retort, but he heard Ms. Clement clear her throat-a tell-tale sign that class was about to start.

On the whiteboard in long, but skinny letters she wrote the words POP QUIZ. Arthur turned to Francis and mouthed 'good luck,' but he could tell the French teen would need a lot more than luck to feel confident by the uneasy smile that made its way across the blond's face.

Class went on for the full hour-in honest, it was fifty-five minutes, but Arthur certainly was not about to complain. After the quiz, they went into stressed and unstressed syllables. Time felt like it was crawling on the back of a tortoise while carrying a pound of sand.

When finally class let out, Francis was the first of the crowd to leave. Arthur watched him go, and then turned back to the other teen's desk. There was a paper left atop it.

 _Maybe it's important..._

Arthur picked up the small piece of folded paper. Immediately he noticed his name scribbled on the cover in beautiful cursive. He unfolded the note.  
 _  
I can't stay after, but thanks again for your help. I recognized a lot of that from the examples in your notes! We should get together again, but for fun this time. Like a victory lap to my progress. Text me when you're free._

P.S. Au Revoir, I couldn't leave without saying goodbye.

Sincerely,

That guy you were totally flirting with

At first read, it made Arthur happy. It sent butterflies to his stomach. He liked the idea that flirting with Francis made the French teen happy, but that didn't last long. Two periods later, during art history, he began to reanalyze the note. Instead of listening to his teacher explain the different symbols in the ancient tablet on the projector, he began to worry about what Francis truly meant.

"Get together."

 _As in hook up? Is that what he thinks I'm after? Because of the flirting?_

"For fun _this_ time"

 _Was that a slight towards me? What? Is English boring or just me? I'm not fun enough?_

"Text me when you're free"

 _He probably thinks I'm going to text him right away, super eager and desperate for attention._

"Au Revoir"

 _Really? That was probably meant to impress me. Well, the joke's on him. It's hardly a "goodbye." If anything, it's more of a "see you later." Ha! The arrogance. As if I'd ever want to see him again. No way was I flirting!  
_  
Arthur glanced at the projection on the screen. The artwork shown was captioned The Palette of Narmar. It was a depiction of a man walking up a hill towards the stars. Instead of thinking about Francis, Arthur decided, he should focus on class.

"Narmar is battling his way up towards the stars, which represent the gods and their favor..."

 _Ha! That's just like Francis. Thinking he would deserve the god's favour.  
_  
Arthur mentally cursed himself. Class. He promised himself he'd focus on class. It worked for a moment too, but then, his phone buzzed. Surreptitiously, or at least Arthur thought so, he slid his phone from pocket and glanced at the notification in question. It was a text from Francis.

 _Did you get my note?_

The text was short enough that he didn't have to open the message to read it. Arthur did not want Francis to know he had read it, because then he'd have to answer. He dropped his phone in his bag, so he wouldn't have to deal with it.

Even when class ended, Arthur had no clue how soon was too soon to reply to a message. Was it weird to text back instantly? Or is it polite? Arthur fiddled with his phone, pushing the corner of the case on and off again. He was having a mental argument in his head about over thinking and under thinking. Part of him was sure he was reading too much into everything, and the other part of him was sure if he overlooked things now he'd be caught with his pants down later-figuratively and maybe literally.

Arthur pushed the screen of his phone up, certain he was about to reply with something he would regret later, when he was shoved forward. It took all Arthur had not to fall into the grass, his phone, however, was not so lucky.

"Hey A-rod!" exclaimed the unmistakable American accent.

"Hello, Alfred," Arthur stated, without as much as a glance in the other teen's direction. Instead he adjusted his sweater vest and went to retrieve his phone. It was slightly damp from the morning dew on the grass, but it still worked, for which Arthur was grateful.

Alfred smiled widely, clearly unfazed. "Have you eaten yet? We should totally grab a bite!"

Arthur was on the verge of politely declining the offer when he realized two things. Firstly, Alfred would not rest until Arthur caved and agreed, sarcastic or not. Secondly, Alfred is the exact person he needed to talk to. Arthur honestly could not think of a single person who spends half as much time as Alfred did on the phone.

"Right then. Where did you have in mind?" Arthur inquired, pocketing his mobile device.

Alfred slung his arm over his friend's shoulder and them to the nearest eatery-the Embassy. The Embassy was the student union of World Academy. Arthur assumed that the founding heads of the academy chuckled to themselves every time the building was mentioned, but to him, it was nothing more than a lame pun. Regardless, the Embassy was where he and his friends spent most of their time. The building had game rooms, study rooms, film rooms, recording rooms, a large yard, outdoor grass bleachers, social stairs, a printing room, an arts and crafts room, the school bookstore, club centers. And-objectively most importantly-a food court.

Alfred spent the entire walk over discussing the value of having a McDonald's and Burger King in the same area. Apparently, these two fast food burger chains were incredibly different.

"I have a whole system," Alfred explained, much to Arthur's chagrin. "Burger King first, but that much goes without saying. I mean, have you ever had cold McDonald's fries?" Alfred chuckled to himself at first, but his face soon fell into a more concerned expression. "I'm not even sure it's legally considered food anymore…"

"Wait, what?!" Arthur exclaimed, concerned for his roommate's welfare.

Alfred laughed off Arthur's question. "Did I tell you we are eating with some other friends of mine?" They walked into the building, slowing down a bit so Alfred could hold the door for people entering behind them.

"Oh…" This changed the situation entirely. Surely if more of Alfred's friends were around, they would all make fun of him for what he could only assume was a stupid question. "Are you sure you want me to join? I mean, I don't want to intrude," Arthur pleaded as they made their way up the stairwell.

"Of course, it'd be good for you to meet new people."

Arthur resigned with a sigh and followed Alfred to the food court. By the time they had gotten their food, a tall blue-eyed blond was signaling them over.

"That's my friend, Mathias," Alfred explained, heading towards the energetic blond male. When they got to the table, Arthur was briefly introduced before the topic of TEAM CAP VS TEAM IRON MAN came up. Arthur was not really sure what they were talking about, but it seemed to be vaguely about the American justice system and the most appropriate manner of dealing with any shortcomings. When the two finally seemed to agree to disagree, Arthur took the opportunity to bring up his problem.

"So… random question, how quick is too quick to reply to a text?" Arthur inquired, not daring to look up from his food for fear of letting Alfred know why he needed the answer to that question.

Alfred, usually the most oblivious person in the room, understood everything rather quickly. "Who is he?"

"Why do you assume there's a he?" Arthur shot back, trying his best to seem surprised.

Alfred gave Arthur a once over before conceding. "Wow, sorry. I'm usually right on these matters."

"Serves you right for jumping to conclusions," Arthur scoffed.

"So, who is _she_?" Mathias asked.

"So that's it then. I have one question about social etiquette and I _must_ be smitten?"

Mathias and Alfred glanced at each other, sharing some short telepathic conversation before turning back towards Arthur. "Yes," they replied in unison.

" _Some_ of us simply care about being polite. And even if I did have romantic interest in someone, I'd hardly be telling _you_ about it. Two seconds from now, the whole school would be raving about it."

Mathias chuckled. "Come on, dude. Don't you think that's a bit much? Your life can't be that interesting. Sure the whole school would _know_ , but I highly doubt anyone would be raving about it."

"I can keep a secret!" Alfred protested rising in his seat.

"In what universe?" a new voice asked, joining the conversation. Arthur immediately recognized the male as the man he met at the club Saturday. His skin was so white it was almost translucent and he had the hair to match. His eyes, however, were a bright red-distractingly so. In fact, it was a while before Arthur realized he was staring.

Arthur shook himself out of his thoughts, noting that he had missed part of the conversation. The albino and Mathias seemed to be laughing at Alfred for some reason.

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes? How was the rest of your night?" the mystery man inquired, seemingly just noticing Arthur's presence. He pulled up a chair to the circular table and sat between Arthur and Mathias.

"So you've met A-rod?! Wait a minute! Art, is he the guy you're crushing on?" Alfred exclaimed, no doubt loud enough for anyone in the building to hear. Mathias burst out laughing at Alfred's incredulous actions, while Arthur could feel his ears turning red.

 _Twice then. This is the second time I've made a fool of myself in front of him._

Seeing as Arthur was dying of embarrassment, his mind refused to pump out anything of substance with which to reply. Even a simple "no" refused to leave his lips. Instead, he did the only thing he could do. He quickly picked up his satchel and scurried off in any direction. Before he knew it, he found himself sitting on the grass bleachers by the koi pond. He laid down on the cool grass, assuming he was safe.

He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. With all that had happened at lunch, Arthur almost forgot why he went in the first place. He glanced at the message, it was a simple question mark. Arthur took a deep breath. He scanned the note again and replied to the text with the first thing that came to mind.

A: The guy with whom you were flirting*

Barely a minute passed when Francis replied.

F: So you admit to the flirting then?

A: In your dreams

F: Most definitely ;)

A: You're incorrigible!

F: Tomorrow at 4?

A: Pardon?

F: To hang out! You know, I've heard that when you get old, your memory begins to go, but I never expected it to happen so fast for you :)

A: HA HA. Hilarious. I'm literally dying of laughter

F: Was that a yes?

A: Can you do 2? I have a thing Tuesday

F: Yeah, meet me at the soccer field

Arthur read the message a few times before putting his phone away. He mentally reprimanded himself for every overthinking anything. He and Francis are friends. There's no reason for him to be reading into anything.

...Except the winking face. That was definitely suggestive. Right?


End file.
